Shut Up
by Puzzlie's Imajinacion
Summary: Pretty much just Craig and Clyde hanging out.  Clyde can't seem to stop talking, which gets on Craig's nerves.  Brofic.  Rated T for language.


**Author's Note: **It's been about four months since I've written fanfiction but almost two _years_ since I've written for South Park. Man, I didn't think it was that long, but it was. This isn't anything really special, and it's not romantic. It's just Craig and Clyde talking and being bros. I like it, though. Hope you guys like it, too. Also, **disclaimer**, I, of course, don't own South Park.

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><p><em>Shut Up<em>

Clyde Donovan lay awkwardly in a bed that wasn't his with a magazine that wasn't his in a house that wasn't his. He tended to do this often. The bed and house were Craig Tucker's, his best friend, or, as he would like to call him, his BFF 4LYF, and the magazine might have been Craig's, too, but the letters "KM" happened to be scribbled on the cover, among various, more obvious reasons.

"How'd you get this _Playboy_?" He asked, flipping through a couple pages, tilting the magazine to view the centerfolds correctly.

"The fucking Tooth Fairy." Craig muttered back. "She gives you porn instead of money after you turn sixteen." He was sitting at his desk near his bed, his chin in his left hand, elbow placed meticulously on the desk's surface. His other hand was on top of a black computer mouse, using his twitchy middle finger to scroll through the many web pages on his desktop computer. Most of his tabs were of Tumblr.

"KM are Kenny's initials, aren't they?" Clyde ignored Craig's reply, accidentally flipping a page much too hard, causing a slight rip, which he pretended he didn't do. Craig didn't hear it, so Clyde was in the clear.

"Yeah." Craig said, using a very deadpan tone to indicate to Clyde to drop the subject.

"So he was over here again?" Clyde pressed, peering over the magazine to observe a nonchalant Craig giving him a sideways, almost leering glance.

"I really wish you wouldn't talk to me while you're reading those," Craig tried to change the subject.

"He's been over here a lot." Clyde said, closing the magazine and tossing it to his side. He quivered his lips, giving Craig puppy dog eyes, "He's not… he's not your new best friend, is he?" He wasn't completely serious, making little fake sniffing sounds and placing his hands in a prayer position, to fake beg for an answer.

"Clyde, shut up." Craig's way of saying no. Clyde, even though he was joking, was still somewhat relieved, but he wasn't completely satisfied.

"So, is he…?" Clyde circled his hands and raised his eyebrows, a small smirk tugging at his lips, slightly revealing his teeth. Chesire cat grin.

"No. It's not what you think. Shut up." Craig grunted, practically stabbing the buttons on his mouse as he closed his tabs. He pushed himself away from his desk, his wheeled chair flying him a bit further than he wanted to. He stood up and walked over to his dresser, opening the first drawer and scurrying his hand through it, searching for a particular item.

"Well, you're still gay, right?" Clyde asked, sitting up in Craig's bed, his arms now in his lap, his back slouched.

Craig found what he was looking for as his fingers brushed over a metallic, somewhat pointed object. Tweezers. He gave a quick, small, unseen smile when he found it. "Of course I'm still gay," He growled. "It's not something you fucking get over, stupid."

"Well, yeah, I know, I wasn't saying, of course you don't get over it, I mean," Clyde waved his left hand frantically, trying to get passed this point, "_I'm trying to say_, is Kenny you're… well, is he your boyfriend?" His last few words were said a few octaves higher than the rest, giving Craig a cheeky grin. It was somewhat mockingly, but also because Clyde wasn't sure how to go about asking his guy friend if he had or didn't have a boyfriend. If Craig was straight, Clyde could just go and say something like 'well, have you slept with her yet?' He didn't think the same way would be appropriate in this scenario. Or if it would be at all appropriate with Craig in the first place.

"I already answered you. _No._" Craig narrowed his eyes in both frustration and concentration, the tweezers propped readily in his right hand.

"So you're just fucking him?" Clyde just came out and asked, throwing out any previous ideals he had about being appropriate, his lips pursed together as he stared at Craig, who just dropped his tweezers.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" Craig shouted, grabbing his tweezers again, wanting to throw them at Clyde. "I already told you, it's not what you think." He paused, breathing in and out deeply to compose himself. "If you must know, he's just helping me with something."

"Helping you with what?"

"Let's just call him an after school project." Craig replied, inching the metallic tool to his forehead, narrowing his eyes once again.

"Him?" Clyde questioned, one eyebrow raised in confusion.

_Shit_. "It," he 'corrected' himself.

"You said him."

"No I didn't."

"Yes you did."

"_No_, I didn't."

"_Yes,_ you did."

"No, I didn't, shut up."

"Whatever," Clyde shrugged, falling back onto the bed with a loud thud. Craig tried preparing himself again before being, once again, interrupted. "Why Kenny?"

"What do you mean 'why Kenny?'" Craig sighed irritatedly.

"Why are you asking Kenny for help?"

"Because Kenny knows things."

"Like what?"

"I don't know. He just knows things. Like how Wendy is just Stan's beard, and… how Tweek may or may not be asexual." Craig's words became quicker at his last words and his hands shook a little, having to place down the tweezers, again.

"Why would those things be important?" Clyde forced his head up a bit to give Craig a hard stare.

"Some are, some aren't. Kenny's just a fun guy to talk to. He just gets things." Craig breathed in again, picking up the tweezers steadily. "Besides, he owes me for letting him hold my hand in fourth grade."

Clyde didn't want to ask.

"What are you even doing?" Clyde got up and shuffled over to Craig, peering over his shoulder. Craig wanted to bite him.

He also wanted to just say something witty back, but just gave a quick reply, "Tweezing my eyebrows."

"Why?" Clyde had his face so close to his that Craig could practically see up his nostrils.

"Get back or I'm stabbing you."

Clyde stepped back a bit but repeated himself. "Why?"

"Because."

"Because why?"

"Ugh, do you have to know everything?"

"No. I'm just curious. Can you blame a future scientist for being curious?" Clyde gave a know-it-all smirk, shifting his shoulders in an almost ha-ha-ha fashion. Like he was the only kid on a playground with a secret.

"You're planning to go into paleontology; that hardly counts as fucking science." Craig replied, rolling his eyes at Clyde's sentiment.

"Hey, you're only saying that because you've been watching too many _Friends_ reruns." Clyde frowned, furrowing his eyebrows together.

"Yeah, well, you only know that because you've been watching them with me." Craig threw his free hand in the air.

"Because that's all we ever do at sleepovers anymore!" Clyde flew both his hands up in the air.

"Yeah, well then, don't sleep over. I'm not forcing you to or anything." Craig put his hand down.

"Well, you're still my BFF, so, you know, whatever." Clyde mimicked him.

"And people say I'm the gay one." Craig muttered, trying to not be heard, but failed.

"You're the one plucking your damn eyebrows!" Clyde shouted.

Craig sneered a bit, cornered by Clyde's 'logic.' "Yeah, whatever," was the only thing he could find himself to reply to as he finally settled the prongs onto a couple of hairs in the middle of his brows. Or, honestly, brow. He pulled quickly, a few hairs escaping their hold from his skin painfully. Craig winced and his eyes slightly watered up.

"You never answered me." Clyde continued, ignoring his friend's pain.

"Shut up," Craig answered back, squinting one eye as he prepared himself for a few more painful pricks. "I have a unibrow, all right?"

"Well, yeah, I already knew that," Clyde started, Craig muttering out, "oh well, _thanks_ for noticing," and Clyde continued, "But you're a dude. It's not like any girls will notice. And you've been gay for like a year so it's not like you're trying to fit the gay quota or something."

"… There were so many things wrong with that sentence I don't even know where to start. _Ow, fuck, _this hurts," Craig was trying to be quicker with pulling out the pesky hairs, but his eyes watering up was slowing him down. "I've been gay my whole life, and I'm not doing this to fit a quote unquote 'gay quota or something.'"

"Then why are you doing it?" Clyde pressed, poking Craig in the back, producing a snarl as if Craig was some wild beast. Clyde stopped the poking.

"Because unibrows freak him out," Craig said, too focused on eyebrow plucking and growling at poking to notice what he was saying. He didn't have the best multitasking abilities.

"Who?" Clyde was about to poke Craig in the back again, but realized that that would be like pressing your fingers against a hot stove. So, instead, he poked Craig in the back of the head.

"Ugh, TWEEK! Stop poking me, dammit!" _Shit_. Craig stopped everything.

"Whoa, Tweek, seriously?" So did Clyde, but his poking was instead switched out for a huge obnoxious beaming grin, showing all of his teeth as he folded his hands into fists in furled excitement.

Craig dropped his tweezers to the ground. "… Uh. No."

"DUDE, you like _Tweek_?" Clyde started laughing and clapped his hands together, "Dude, I'm telling him!" He shouted, still laughing. He wasn't being rude or bullying Craig or anything, but chuckling and overall being genuinely excited for his best friend. He didn't realize that wasn't something Craig would want until he felt a hand grabbing at his collar and yanking him down.

"You tell him, and I kill you." It was a promise, not a threat.

"Aww, fineee," Clyde folded his arms in a childish way and went and sat back down on the bed. "But it'd be so fun to see him freak out about it! He'll panic more than when I told him that Token was black because he was actually a zombie." Clyde grabbed his sides as he started laughing hysterically at the memory.

"Tweek wasn't laughing because he thought Token was a zombie, he was laughing because he thought you were completely retarded and thought something was in the water supply. He didn't drink tap water for a month." Craig said nonchalantly, searching for his tweezers on the ground. Clyde ceased his laughter.

"… Oh." He found himself saying, "I thought… I thought that he didn't drink tap water because I told him Token drank it so the zombie virus was in the water supply?"

"… No. Tweek's a spazz, but he's not retarded. He's not going to believe everything he hears. Especially if it's coming from you."

"Oh. _Well then_," Clyde crossed his arms immaturely once again. Craig still searched for his tweezers.

"Dammit, Clyde, if I can't find these, I'm making you go buy me new ones."

"So why Tweek?"

"Don't change the damn subject, help me find my fucking tweezers!"

"They're right _there_." Clyde pointed with his foot.

Craig looked up at him with an 'are you fucking kidding me?' look. "That's not going to fucking help me – oh. So they are." He grasped them and hoisted himself back up.

"So why Tweek?" Clyde repeated.

"I'm not going into that with you." Craig murmured, flinching at his movements to once again divide his brow-sea.

"You talk about it with Kenny, don't you? We're best friends. We're bros. We can tell each other anything!" Clyde exclaimed, wanting to grab Craig and shake him, but remembered Craig being like a hot oven.

"Bros don't talk about things like that," Craig rubbed one of his temples and let out an aggravated sigh. "Can we just… change the subject?"

"Fineee," Clyde parroted, grabbing the magazine by his head and placing it on his face. There were five minutes of thankful silence except for the occasional hisses from Craig plucking. He was almost done before Clyde let out a huge sigh followed by, "Craiggggg, I'm _boredddd_."

"Well, I'm not _keeping_ you here," Craig snapped back, getting the last few pesky hairs.

"Well, I know that," Clyde rolled his eyes. "Let's go _do_ something."

"I don't want to go _do_ anything." Craig put the tweezers back into the drawer and slammed it shut.

"You never want to do anything." Clyde mumbled.

"Well, not with you. Every time you want to 'do' anything, it's always with Stan and them. And I hate them. And every time we end up doing anything with them, you end up crying." Craig dragged himself back to his chair, plopped down into it backwards, his chest facing its back, and spun himself around a bit.

"Not every time." Clyde said defensively.

"Practically every time." Craig said, placing his chin on the top of the chair. There was another silence except for the slight squeaking from Craig's spinning.

"Hey, Craig?" Clyde started after about three minutes of silence.

"What, Clyde?" Craig asked back.

"What did you mean by Wendy is Stan's beard?"

"Shut up, Clyde."


End file.
